2007-05-11
Mother's day ...
Mother’s day … that time honored tradition of showing your mother just how much you love her and how glad you are that you were born by her.
Yeah, whatever. I was informed Wednesday night that my middle brother had invited her and dad to their house on Mother’s day and that the rest of us were not invited. Honestly this is the billionth “what the fuck” moment in my life. First off she seemed proud of this and second, my brother and his wife are nasty for that.
I ended up telling my mother that it was all fine and dandy to me and that I’m sick of the games that are being played. Really I was angry at the whole thing, but for once I wasn’t hurt. It’s more of a relief to not have to go through all the “oh I loooove you” bullshit that I just can’t fake any more. I have a helluva time even finding a card any more. The choices are “thanks for keeping a clean house” or “thanks for not aborting me!” She’s not like a friend to me, she’s not in the best mother category, and the “thanks for all the lessons you taught me” cards I generally give her don’t carry across the sarcastic undertone of “yeah, like how not to be!”
I think everything that has gone on at work really has helped me. My last review was a few weeks back and it was the best I’ve ever had. For the first time it was documented how strong I am at performing my job and how much knowledge I have. Training my two co-workers has greatly increased my job confidence. Being confident here at work has overflowed into my life outside of work.
I realized the other night while telling M about how mother was affecting me this time that there is something very significant about my current achievements at work; my mother cannot even attempt to take credit for it.
For all the good that has happened in my life, she has taken credit for it. I’m a nice person because of her. I won a journalism award in college and it was because of her. When I lost weight it was because of her. I survived the car crash and rehabilitated myself to the extent of being able to live on my own because of her.
She is responsible in some ways, but not in the inspiring, feel good way she tries to make it seem. I’m a nice person because I was raised listening to her talk bad about pretty much everyone, including me. I won a journalism award because I worked hard and I can write. I lost weight because I thought she would finally be proud of me. She wasn’t and while she credits herself for the weight loss, her constant vocalization about my current weight shows that where I am now is all my own fault. I survived the car crash because God was looking out for me. She told me she always knew it would happen to me. If she knew, she should have told me. No help there! All through rehab she was the voice of doom. I’d never walk again. I’d always be dependent on them (her and dad.) When I could finally move the fingers on my paralyzed hand her only comment was “well, you still have a long way to go.”
It really does seem like she’s this ogre of sorts doesn’t it? I feel bad about that inflection, because she’s not all horrid, she just really wasn’t mother material. She especially wasn’t equipped to have a daughter, or as she sees it – competition for my father’s love and attention.
My mother has always told me that no man will ever love a fat girl. It took me many years to realize that she pushed food on me all those years so I would be a fat girl. See, the love of a man included my father’s love. Some where in her head I am sure that she thought if I wasn’t the perfect daughter my dad would not love me. That hurts, but more than anything it saddens me. From the moment they said “it’s a girl” she has made me feel like I ruined her life. Hearing her say that all was good until I came along and my dad didn’t pay anymore attention to her … ok, that one is a deep wound that is taking … will take forever to heal.
It’s hard to just say how I feel now. I know I’ve been strong in the past, so strength is not new to me. It’s just that now I feel more at peace with myself and who I am. Finally I can say “look what I have become!” and understand that becoming me has been a life long series of trial and error movements, but ones that for better or worse, I have made.